Twilight's Crossing
by Karandras
Summary: The Time of Anarchy approaches. An ancient evil will rise up to overthrow the inhabitants of the Warhammer world. Strange allies from another dimension come to their aid but will it be enough? R&R please
1. Prologue

Hi there everyone, this is my first Warhammer fic. Also, nearly all the characters main and supporting in it are of my own creation except for the ones known either the Warhammer 40k universe and/or the Warhammer fantasy world. For those of you who may not understand some of the things, I've taken the liberty of adding in a glossary of terms and words I thought would be helpful for you to understand this fic for every chapter. Anyways, enough of me talking. Onto the story!  
  
Disclaimer: Warhammer, Warhammer 40k and all related names belong to Games Workshop. All non-game/storyline characters are mine as are any changes made to the Warhammer universe.  
  
  
** Twilight's Crossing   
** _ by Karandras_  
  
  
Prologue  
  
Time flows as it wills. Ages past by, civilizations rise and fall. Always there is an evil that threatens to overtake the universe. Time and again heroes rise up to meet that challenge, some for their families, others for their honor; all heroes have different motives. Few know that Time is relative, shifting and swirling like a fierce maelstrom. Every dimensional universe has its own counterpart, a parallel dimension that is strangely similar yet completely different. The Cycle of Time is never-ending, always flowing like a gentle river. Many tales speak of saviors from other dimensions, stumbling over into their parallel dimension; caught in a war they never wanted to be a part of. Yet each one fights when the need is great, when Chaos threatens to run rampant unopposed throughout the lands. This is one such tale.  
  
  
****************  
  
Heavy raindrops hammered into the darkened streets of Altdorf as lightning lit the darkness of the sky. Altdorf is a grand city as well as the capital of the Empire, the strongest, wealthiest and most famous realm in the Old World. Made up of independent provinces and city states, the Empire is ruled over by Elector Counts and the ultimate power; the Emperor Karl Franz.   
  
Located on the western side of the Empire, at the intersection between the Rivers Reik and Talabec, Altdorf is home to some of the greatest institutions of human endeavor, such as the Colleges of Magic, the Imperial Engineers School and the world renowned University of Altdorf. It is at the Colleges of Magic that theogonists gather to study arcane texts and scriptures of the past; including studying the arts of Magic.  
  
Inside a decrypted room in a tower adjacent to the Great Hall of the Grand College of Magic, Master Theogonist Velkir the Aged studiously read through scrolls upon scrolls of arcane writing from times long past. Upon his tableau laid mounds of scrolls and documents in an disorganized mess- some written in the language of the high elves, others written in Common.   
  
Peering through his dust specked eyeglasses Velkir stared at the ancient symbols, deciphering them in his mind using his vast knowledge of arcane lore. Velkir was not a young man nor was he tremendously old despite being called 'The Aged.' That came from his years of wandering the Old World, learning languages and lore of the past. Contact with foul and evil ridden scrolls have aged his body but not his mind.   
  
Through the Light and Blessings of Sigmar, he has survived his encounters with such documents untainted by the filth of Chaos. A man of 70 summers old, he looked more like 100. Long wizened snow white hair grew down past his shoulders and almost exceeds the length of his long beard. Thin spectacles rested along a thin bony nose ending with a slight crook to the left.   
  
Absent-mindedly he reached for the next set of scrolls, pulling his hand back with a surprised yelp. Looking up, he realized that he was harmed by the scrolls that were recently delivered to him from an excavation deep in the sewers of Nuln. His eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he gathered his energies, feeling the magic coursing through his body, forming a ward around his body to shield him from the harmful effects of the scroll's foul dark magic.  
  
"Now then..." He said softly. Taking hold on the dusty old parchments he unrolled them and began reading the ancient characters written, occasionally muttering incoherently to himself. Though some of the wording was faded and other parts of the scroll were simply not there, failing to survive in the test of time, Velkir could only decipher a small portion of it. What parts he _could_ make out however spelled a warning of dire times ahead.  
  
_On the eve of the 20st of Sigmarzeit  
More than two thousand summers shall   
have past since the crowning of Sigmar  
__The skies shall burn the color of blood_  
_Shining auras shall appear throughout _  
_the world signaling forth the darkness_  
_The Time of Anarchy shall commence_  
_as Darkness consumes the world._  
  
"Light..." Velkir breathed in as he finished translating what few characters were legible. 'The Time of Anarchy!' He thought to himself as his beard quivered in fear.   
  
"I must warn his Majesty." Velkir said loudly as he almost jumped up from his stool. Suddenly he stiffened as he felt a numbing sensation spreading from his back to all over his body. Blood rose up his throat in a gurgling froth. He fell back onto the floor, staring at a dark vaguely human shape with burning red eyes staring back at him. A wicked serrated dagger was held in the figure's hand as Velkir's blood, mixed with a foul greenish liquid coating the blade, dripped hissing onto the floor.   
  
His vision fading, all Velkir could do was stare blankly at ceiling while his body went into a series of convulsions. The assassin drew back from Velkir, its shadow like cloak wrapping itself around the figure as though it was alive. The assassin faded into the shadows until only its glowing eyes can be seen malevolently until they too blinked out of existence. Velkir's vision blurred and swirled until the darkness overcame him as well.  
  
********** Another Dimension **********  
  
The battles raged fiercely on some nameless world near the fringes of the galaxy, close to the secluded Eldar craftworld of Alaitoc. Alaitoc drifts on the edge of the galaxy for the Eldar of Alaitoc strictly adhere to the culture known as the Path of the Eldar - that lifestyle which an Eldar will dedicate itself to the pursuit of knowledge in one sphere of life at a time.   
  
Treading carefully through the thickets and high grass on the sloping hill, a tall figure crept quietly several steps ahead of his three companions. Their shifting hooded cloaks and easy grace as well as the strange highly advanced weapons marked them as Eldar.   
  
Path-finders to be precise, from the Craftworld of Alaitoc, sent to delay the advance of the Imperium's elite soldiers, the Space Marines. Not only that but these trespassers dared to bring along with them foul Chaos Space Marines, millennia long traitors to the Imperium of Man.   
  
Halting as the grassland opened up into large roaming plains, the lead Eldar stopped and held his hand up straight to signal the others behind him to stop. Crouching down to the ground, the lead Eldar spoke to his companions who flanked him.  
  
"Our intelligence tells us that the mon keigh's genetically altered _Space Marines_ shall be crossing this area shortly." He said, pronouncing the word space marines with such vehemence. "We are to intercept and destroy...." He trailed off as he heard a faint rustling from behind them. Turning with amazing speed, the four pathfinders leveled their weapons on to the unsuspecting intruder.   
  
Seconds went by but nothing appear until they heard the chik-chik of a shuriken pistol being loaded from behind them. Turning around, weapons aimed at the intruder's head they were surprised to see a brightly clad Eldar standing before them.   
  
They knew a Harlequin, fearsome Eldar troubadour fighters dressed in brightly coloured clothing whose superb acrobatic skills along with ancient artifacts of technology, such as the holosuit and many specialist hand-to-hand weapons, make them exceptionally deadly close combat fighters. Like all Eldar they are elusive foes, preferring to use swiftness and devastating attacks rather than massed armour and brute force.  
  
It wasn't that unusual to meet a Harlequin if you followed the Path of the Outcast as all Rangers and Path-finders do. It _was_ unusual however to be approached by one and especially if that one was dressed in dark morbid colors, nearly armed to the teeth. It could only be.....  
  
"A Solitaire!" Exclaimed one of the younger Pathfinders behind the leader.  
  
The Solitaire ignored him however, fixing his gaze on the leader. He closely examined the Path-finder in front of him, a tall male for an Eldar about 6 feet in height with the ever shifting cameleoline cloak of the Ranger blending in with the surrounding environment. His face was hooded and a face-mask covered the lower half of his face, providing oxygen should he encounter poison gas or harsh environments. A Ranger long rifle was slung over one shoulder and he too was gripping a shuriken pistol, lowered slightly at the sight of the Harlequin but still ready to fire its deadly rounds in an instant.   
  
After several moments he nodded to the leader and asked, "You are Karthanmor?"  
  
Karthanmor shot the Solitaire a hard look before responding.  
  
"I am. Who seeks me?"   
  
The Solitaire took a step forward, placing his right hand over his heart in an open palm fashion. "I am Karhaedron."  
  
*********************  
Birds squawked over the open fields below, their farseeing eyes knowing more than what the pathetic technology of the Imperial Guard can tell them. Though normally the lush open plains with few trees to use as cover and only moderately high grass for protection would normally be death for any who would be stupid enough to set camp there, it was the perfect site for the Imperial encampment.   
  
The Imperial Guard's greatest strength is two things: It's heavy artillery combined with their armoured might, and their numbers. It is the the reason why such a defenseless place was chosen, Imperial tanks and artilleries stand by to defend it from every direction.  
  
Inquisitor Abram Zeniks walked through the entrenched Imperial Guard camp, staring at the bustling movement of guardsmen preparing for the Chaos assault. Heavy muscled, jungle fatigued clad men were doing everything from setting up artillery to digging trenches.   
  
Their red headbands and grim demeanors along with the way they carried themselves said that these were highly skilled and deadly fighters. What more can you expect from Imperial Guardsmen from the Death world of Catachan. These among are the strongest, most cunning and deadly soldiers, having grown up on a world where anything and everything can kill you if you aren't careful.   
  
Dressed in a fine white trench coat heavily embroided with grim symbols of death, skulls and of course the Emperor's Eagle along with flak armour underneath, Inquisitor Zeniks walked the grounds with a determined stride. Hard high heeled boots crushed dirt sods beneath his feet and a staff with a skull imbued in a large golden star, which represented purification of humanity, rested on his back.  
  
For an Inquisitor, he was young. Perhaps one of the youngest ever, being only 29 years old but already a member of the secret Ordo Malleus. Plain faced with a long scar running down the left side of his face right by his left eye; he had a cold, composed expression that belied years of intense training. Short brownish yellow hair added to slight chubby cheeks reminded some guardsmen of an eager young boy with too hopeful of dreams.   
  
'Six months!' He screamed in his minds. 'We've been here for six bloody months and still haven't able to destroy the heretics.'   
  
As he walked, Zenik's powersword tapped lightly in a rhythmic motion matching the clock ticking down the time before they would be overwhelmed by the heretical forces of Chaos. Though they are far greater in number than the small of traitor marines from the Iron Warriors legion, they could not hope to fight against such foes who have fought the Imperium of Man for the past 10,000 years.   
  
Inquisitor Zeniks came to a halt in front of a tall, gaunt man dressed in a red uniform with the Imperial Hawk on his right breast and numerous medals for Valour and the like on the left breast of his uniform. Brown pants accompanied the red coat and hanging low on his right hip was a master crafted plasma pistol.  
  
The commissar's lips pursed in humor from regarding Zeniks before speaking. "Our scouts reported that the heretics are advancing on this position. In the name of the Emperor, may he forever guide us, we shall destroy them or die trying. Your Grey Knights shall avenge us should we fall."  
  
'Curse the man.' Zeniks thought. He didn't particularly like the Commissar, there was something about the way he treated the Inquisitor that set off numerous warnings in Zenik's head. 'When the heretics are dead, it won't matter if he _does_ intend to betray the Imperium for the sake of his own men or not.' Zeniks thought coldy.  
  
He knew from the moment he enlisted the aid of the 44th Catachan Regiment that he would eventually have to dispose of them. He had nothing against them it was simply policy of the Ordo Malleus, the Daemon Hunters, that all Imperial Guardsmen who survive the battles against the hordes and daemons of Chaos, after being enlisted to aid the Inquisitors, be killed to prevent the taint of Chaos to spread.   
  
It would be the job of the Grey Knights, the 666 Chapter of Space Marines, to do so and destroy any remnants of the heretics left on this planet.  
  
"Very well then Commissar Gradius, I expect the best from you and your men. My Grey Knights shall be here shortly."   
  
Raising a cross-like pendant that hung around his neck, he kissed the Crux Terminatus and said, "May the Emperor's light shine on us today."  
  
*********************  
  
Warhammer 40k (The Sci-fi Universe) Glossary  
  
Craftworld- Craftworlds are giant ships that travel through space; they are pure Wraithbone at the core and have a device called the Infinity Circuit that is the resting place of Eldar souls after the death of their body. In the core of the Craftworld is the Avatar, the embodiment of the spirit of Khaine, the Eldar god who died fighting the Great Enemy; the Avatar may be awakened with the sacrifice of the Young King, the most powerful Exarch of the Craftworld.   
  
Eldar- The Eldar are an ancient, psychic and technologically advanced race (their spacefaring history predating humanity's by many thousands of year) who ruled the galaxy until a terrible catastrophe overcame them. Their decadence combined with powerful psychic abilities and warp energy caused the birth of a new god. Slannesh, the Great Enemy devoured a large proportion of the Eldar race in one night and continues to take the souls of all Eldar should they die without a Waystone. Although the Eldar were all but destroyed in the Fall, many survive. With the help of expert warriors and an ability to predict the future, gradually the Eldar are bringing together the shattered remnants of their civilization to once again rule the galaxy.  
  
Flip belt- A flip belt is a compact anti-grav device which generates a short range negative-gravity field which, when combined with the Harlequins' already amazing acrobatic abilities, allows them to make all manner of gravity-defying leaps and bounds.   
  
Daemon Hunters (Grey Knights)- Surpassing even their brother Space Marines in skill and ability, the level of expertise that each Grey Knight wields is such that they can exterminate a daemonic infestation that outnumbers them many times over. Armed with psychically charged force weapons, storm bolters and an unshakeable faith in the Emperor, there is little more daunting a foe for a Daemon to face.   
  
God-Emperor of Man- The ruler of the Imperium of Mankind. He is a human with god-like powers and is virtually near immortal. He created the twenty Primarchs, using his own genetic material or geneseed, whose genetic material would be used to create the modern Space Marines. After reuniting the planets of mankind, the Emperor was betrayed by Horus, his most trusted Primarch who had fallen into the clutches of Chaos. Battle raged from planet to planet until ending on Terra (Earth) when Horus and the Emperor fought in single combat. The Emperor prevailed, but it cost him his mortal life. Horus' uprising was against the rightful God Emperor, and will thus be known evermore as the Horus Heresy. The shell of what was the Emperor is kept in a perpetual state of near death by an enormous stasis device called the Golden Throne on Terra. His psychic powers help light the Astronomican, the guiding light of the psychic navigators that guide mankind's ships through the Warp.   
  
Harlequins- The Harlequins are a strange sub-sect of the Eldar race, consisting of warriors drawn from the other kindreds; the Craftworld Eldar, Exodites and Dark Eldar. They follow the only other Eldar god to survive the Cataclysm, the Laughing God. They are also the keepers of the ancient Eldar myths, and perform complex dances and plays to recreate these allegorical tales. The Harlequins are held in a mixture of fear, awe and respect by all other Eldar for their knowledge of the Webway is unmatched and they can appear and disappear almost at will.  
  
Holo-suit- Harlequins do not wear physical armor to absorb blows, instead they rely on a sophisticated holo-suit to misdirect the enemy. A holo-suit also contains a mask which incorporates a holographic generator that projects images monstrous faces and daemonic visages, intensified by a short range pyschic field which increases their opponent's sensitivity to fear and despair.   
  
Imperial Cult- The most widespread and well-established religion throughout the Imperium is the Imperial Cult. It has billions upon billions of followers throughout the Imperium, with representative cult leaders on every planet. The Imperial Cult teaches that the Emperor is the divine representative of the entire human race, who needs the worship of people everywhere to remain strong so that he can protect humanity. This creed is essentially true. The loyalty and determination of all of the Imperium's citizens is an important part of humanity's survival. But the Imperial Cult's teachings are also true in a literal way, because the Emperor does need the spiritual energies which his worshippers create in the warp.  
  
Imperial Guard- The Imperial Guard is the largest and most diverse military organization the galaxy has ever seen. It contains billions of men supported by armored vehicles such as tanks and troop transports. These armored vehicles take the shape of flame throwing assault tanks, long range self propelled artillery guns, and the tried and true Leman Russ Battle Tank. Due to it's vast size, specialized weaponry and armor are rare and reserved for only the elite forces of the Imperial Guard. The standard guardsmen is sent into battle with a trusty lasgun and little more than the shirt on his back. Tactically, an Imperial Guard force uses blunt maneuvers and will rely upon big guns and sheer weight of numbers. Service in the Imperial Guard is rarely a glorious path to tread, nevertheless billions of valiant warriors lay down their lives for the sake of humanity, it's home, and the honor of the Emperor.  
  
Imperium of Man- The Imperium of Man stretches across vast star systems, over billions of worlds. The Imperium is ruled by the God-Emperor but as he is nothing more than a corpse in a stasis field, the High Lords of Terra truly rule. In order to protect Humanity the Imperium is not only cruel and intolerant but xenophobic to other races, usually destroying any alien settlements on planets they wish to colonize, claiming it as "rightfully theirs and the alien heretics had no right to be there." Though the Imperium tries to be good, it's intolerancy and merging of religion as government makes it highly impractical. Those who oppose the Imperium are killed either using the brute force of Space Marines, Imperial Guard or Adeptus Arbites or by an assassin of the Officio Assassinorum.   
  
Inquisitor- Inquisitors are the agents of the Imperium's Inquisition. The Inquisition is an ecclesiastical tribunal for suppression of heresy, Inquisitors are given special powers to do as they wish as they deem fit in order to bring heretics to justice. They are the most fanatical of all the God-Emperor's servants and as such are brutally cruel in their attempts to 'purify' the Imperium of all threats, external and internal. They are armed with the most advanced technology in the Imperium and have been known to command even the dreaded Space Marines as well as their destruction should an Inquisitor deem them unrepentant. Their two main mottos are: "Innocence proves nothing." and "The ends justifies the means."  
  
Ranger Long Rifle- The Ranger long rifle fires something akin to needles, allowing the rifle to carry a much larger ammunition supply per catridge. The long rifle is equipped with a highly sophisticated sights, allowing the firer to locate weak points in an enemy's armour.  
  
Shuriken weapons (IE: Shuriken Pistol, Shuriken Catapult, Shuriken Cannon)- The Eldar are famed for their shuriken weapons. These range in size from the Shuriken pistol to the shuriken cannon and all operate on the same principles. The aummunition is stored as a solid core of plasti-crystal material that is forced up from the magazine by a magnetic repulsor. A series of rapid high-energy impulses originating from the rear of the weapon then moves it forward at an intense speed. These impulses detach a monomolecular slice of the ammunition core and hurl it from the weapon's barrel, while the ammunition core is kept in the line of firing impulse by the magnetic repulsor. This allows the weapon to fire up to a hundred rounds of ammunition in a burst of one or two seconds, and each ammunition core is good for atleast ten bursts of fire before it needs replacing.   
  
Space Marine- Space Marines are the most powerful and dreaded of all the human warriors in the Warhammer 40k universe. They are not Human at all but superhuman, having been made superior, in all respects, to a normal man by a harsh regime of genetic modification, psycho-conditioning and rigourous training. Being few in number compared to the uncounted billions of Humanity, Space Marines are organised into small independent armies called Chapters. Each Chapter is responsible for its own recruitment, training, equipment, organisation and strategy. Their unswerving loyalty is to the Emperor of Mankind and no other.  
  
Webway- A system of warp tunnels spread throughout the 40k universe.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter One

Disclaimer: Warhammer, Warhammer 40k and all related names and characters belong to Games Workshop. No infringement intended. No profit made--these stories are purely for reader and writer enjoyment. That means that all the other characters introduced in this story are my own creations as are any changes made to the Warhammer universes.   
  
Hi all, I'd just like to thank my beta-reader Frozen Phoenix for her comments and advice on how to make this story better as well as deal with some of the unsavory parts ^_^ Enjoy!  
  
  
**Twilight's Crossing **  
_by Karandras_  
  
Chapter 1  
  
A gentle breeze swept over the small group of Path-finders and Solitaire. Cameleoline cloaks flapped in the wind, changing colors and blotting out parts of the body they covered. High stalks of grass yielded to the wind, bending and swaying but never breaking.   
  
"Why do you seek me, Karhaedron? What do you want from me, Wandering Spirit?" Karthanmor asks to the lone Solitaire.  
  
Behind his mask, Karhaedron smiled. Glee rose in him as if he were in battle- blood rushing through his veins, adrenaline pumping and the craving to fight rising. Followers of the Laughing God, the Great Harlequin, are usually like this for to them the battlefield is a stage and they are the performers.   
  
"I haven't heard that name in a long time. Do you insult me by using the mon keigh's version of my name?" Karhaedron asked.  
  
"Not at all. I only said it because that is what you are is it not? A wandering soul in this cruel universe." Karthanmor replied impassively.  
  
"I have come for you, Karthanmor. I have watched you these long centuries, you have proven yourself more than capable of anything. I believe you can pass the Ritual."   
  
Karthanmor said nothing, his face remained cold as ice. His eyes, however, told a different tale. They shone with indecision and unwillingness to abandon his fellow Path-finders.   
  
Sensing this, Karhaedron continued on. "Not only that, you have fought many enemies of our race but the foe you fight the most and the fiercest is the forces of Chaos. Your willingness to fight the Great Enemy and all spawn of Chaos is exemplified by the code of justice that you live by."  
  
"Aku Soku Zan." Karthanmor whispered softly, almost inaudible. But Karhaedron heard, "That is right. You are already a Harlequin in all but spirit, why not come with me and join in the fight against Chaos?"  
  
Glancing at the other Path-finders with him he said nothing, his look alone was enough.   
  
"I've known you for more than 400 years, Kar. I'll go with you if you wish it of me." The tallest of the three, Eldorath, said.   
  
Karthanmor only nodded and looked to the other two. "What you about Vandrimir? And you Athan'bane?"   
  
The shorter of the two, Vandrimir, with his short golden yellow hair peeking out from underneath his hood took a step forward and placed his fist over his heart. "I fought alongside you when we were Dire Avengers, so shall I be with you as you undergo the Ritual."  
  
Athan'bane stepped forward alongside Loren'galiel, his medium length brown hair swaying in the wind as his hood was down exposing high cheek bones and noble look that all Eldar bear. "Sire, I'd follow you into the Eye of Terror to fight the Great Enemy if you but ask it. I shall go with you wherever you choose."  
  
Nodding to his comrades, he smiled though it couldn't be seen under oxygen mask he knew they could see it in his eyes, he turned back to the waiting Solitaire.   
  
"I shall go with you on the condition that they come with me as well." Karthanmor said, his tone brooking no arguments.   
  
Eyeing the other three Eldar with Path-finder leader, Karhaedron turned his gaze onto the Path-finder and nodded slightly. "Very well then. They look as if they may be able to pass the Ritual as well. If you are ready, come with me." With that, he motioned for them to go but Karthanmor held up a hand to stop Karhaedron.   
  
"Not yet, first we need to finish our assignment for Alaitoc before we go with you. You may come along with us if you want, I think you may be pleased with what we need to do."  
  
Karhaedron started to giggle immensely, unable to stand still he jumped about doing marvelous displays of acrobatics. "Really? What do we get to do?"  
  
Karthanmor smiled. "We...are to pin down the mon keigh forces encamped on the Yamsa plains just over these hills until our forces arrive to shatter them. Other Ranger and Path-finder units will be converging on this point as well. It's time we turn these mon keigh invaders into...what do they call it...a pincushion."  
  
Above the, the sky darkened as a storm began to brew.   
  
*********************  
  
Dusk was rapidly approaching as stormclouds formed in the skies. Thunder rumbled across the land with its sibling lightning strikes lighting up the open air. Slowly but steadily raindrops began to fall, washing over the ground and cleansing the dirt and grime from the bodies of the Catachan guardsmen.   
  
A flash of lightning illuminated the fields, showing hordes of soldiers that were not there before. Small squads of armoured figures stood anxiously no more than a couple miles away.   
  
Twisted mockeries of the Emperor's loyal space marines, the Chaos marines of the Black legion could be heard chanting amongst themselves as they readied for battle. Box-shaped Rhino transports were scattered between squads, their hulls pulsating with daemonic life as horns and other sharp obtrustive instruments stuck out.   
Though Chaos traitors' armour was a nightblack with a brass coloring trimming the shoulderpads and the eight pointed star of Chaos, quite a few of the heretics wore spiky blood red power armour.  
  
Wth a roar matched only by the raging storm these berserkers, adorned with a gruesome assortment of wicked looking weapons stained with blood and rust, lifted their weapons in the air and began chanting to their patron, the Chaos god Khorne.  
  
_"BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!"  
"SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THRONE!"_  
  
_''BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!"  
"SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THRONE!"  
_  
The battlecry of the Khorne berserkers echoed over the open plains to the surrouonded Imperial army. Some guardsmen exchanged nervous glances. They knew they were the traitors they hunted were space marines but Khorne berserkers were something they didn't expect.   
  
If these traitors had khornites in their midst, who knew what other devout followers of Chaos were there. Even worse, the Imperial army advantage of mass artillery barrage on flat terrain would mean very little if there were practisioners of the four Chaos gods: Khorne, Tzeentch, Nurgle, Slaanesh.  
  
Their chant works with a double purpose as Inquisitor Zeniks noted. The chanting worked up the berserkers into a frenzy state of wanton killing and it also served to reduce the morale of the enemy they fight. Zeniks kept faith with the Emperor though, knowing that the Emperor's blessings were with them.  
  
_"BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!"  
"SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THRONE!"_  
  
With a final battlecry, these psychotic close combat fighters charged at the entrenched Imperial camp. Dozens of them ran with the speed of a cheetah, spreading out to minimize casaulties as Leman Russ tanks blasted large craters into the earth. Rhino transports trailed behind the Khornites, using them as meat shields, until they could reach the front lines.   
  
Explosions rippled across the untouched plains sending earth and berserkers flying through the air. Those flung into the air by the explosions hit the ground hard, some got and resumed their charge. Others simply layed still and moved no longer.  
  
An agonized shriek came from one of the lead berserkers who was armed with dual power axes with skulls adorning the spike at the top of each axe blade. Dropping one of the axes, he stumbled around clutching his head with a power gloved hand as lasgun shots ricocheted off his massive form, on occassion cracking one of the trophy skulls he wore around his neck.   
  
A high pitched scream emitted from the dark horned helmet and two red glowing orbs burned where the eyes should be, could be seen even from the Imperial frontlines shoning from the darkened visor.   
  
The Imperial guardsmen gasped and began to concentrate their fire on the Khorne champion even as explosive shells were lobbed at the incoming attack force via Demolisher tanks, whose short demolisher cannons atop the turret blasted holes the size of a normal human into the flanks of the Rhinos.  
  
Cries of desperation came from a few guardsmen for which this was their first battle, the fear coursing through their veins at watching bloodlusted warriors passed through No Man's Land and reaching them. As the forces collided into eachother with lasguns firing and swords slashing, the Khorne Champion emitted an inhuman scream.   
  
The armor exploded off the champion's body, pieces of plasteel flying here and there.   
  
Where a superhuman 7 foot tall man should have been was the disturbing grotestque form of a Greater Daemon of Khorne, the Bloodthirster. Spreading its batlike wings, it towered over even the space marines.   
  
Humanoid in shape only, it resembled more of bestial homo-sapien with its wide jaws and protrusive fangs along with slanted glowing red/yellow eyes. Long twisted horns sprouted from its forehead and in its right clawed hand was a rune encrusted power axe writing with forbidden symbols. In its left hand was a long barbed whip capable of wrapping itself around a man's body and ripping apart in a disgusting but efficient manner.  
  
With a low growl, it launched itself at the Imperial forces. Its throat rumble as it bellowed its battlecry:  
  
"For the Warmaster!"  
  
*********************  
  
The battle was fiercely fought as ordinary humans fought genetically altered, Chaos empowered space marines of the dreaded Black Legion. The Catachan guardsmen did what they are best at: fighting in close combat and dying, dying being the more common of the two for this particular moment.   
  
Bloodsoaked axes and blades glowed faint blue aura as they cut through flesh, muscle and bone.   
  
Private Calek, a young guardsmen no more than 20 years old with a heavily muscled body, clashed swords with a khorne berserker.   
  
The berserker spun his sword in an arc aimed for the guardsman' head only to have it parried. The return stroke for the berserker's blade took far too long and in that small gap of time, the guardsman's shorter blade slashed across the underside of the space marine's helmet, severing the wind pipes.   
  
The chaos heretic ignored it however, choosing to launch a flurry of rapid strikes upon Calek's unarmoured body. With the aid of a knife along with his trusty sword, he managed to deflect and dodge all the blows save for one that cut across his right arm with all the speed of youth.   
  
An angry roar accompanied the khornite's blade in a downward slash only to have it miss and caught under Calek's foot.   
  
Moving with desperate speed, he shoved his knife through the left eye of the helmet while his right hand swung that sword that decapitated the marine. Letting go of the knife, he let the head and body separate.   
  
Grinning to himself that he managed to defeat a khorne berserker, he didn't notice the monstrous looming shape behind him.   
  
Private Calek turned his head just in time to see a large clawed hand engulf his head. In an instant, his head was crushed to a bloody pulp and his body tossed aside like a rag doll as the Bloodthirster continued on its wanton killing frenzy.   
  
Elsewhere, Chaos Rhinos rammed through Imperial lines. Large rectangular shaped vehicles plowed through mounds of dirt and humans alike. Their bolters blazing a cover fire as their rear doors swung open as black armoured marines ran out, bolters flaring.   
  
"For the Warmaster!" A battlecry from the Bloodthirster that was soon taken up by the black armoured soldiers. Each one fought with merciless efficiency, cutting down Catachan guardsmen in hand-to-hand with Khorne berserkers.   
  
Catachan do not die easily though. Some swung around to open fire with their weapons, multi-meltas and heavy bolters, upon the millenia old traitors. The air around the multi-meltas hissed as super-heated air burst into flesh searing heat.   
  
Several marines fell to the ground, drowning in molten slag as ceramite plates liquified under extreme heat. A few that managed to survive the intense blasts of heat were cut down by rapid fire shots of the heavy bolter.   
  
The small self-propelled missiles known as bolts drilled into dirt, armour and flesh exploding with equal ferocity. Several of the chaos marines who were returning fire were clipped at the knees or fell with fist sized gaping wounds in their chests but not before unleashing their own bolter fire that arced side to side. Heavy muscled men fell to the ground, their blood mixing with the mud underneath.  
  
** ** **  
  
Several yards back from the thickest part of the fighting stood Inquisitor Abram Zeniks along with his retinue of henchmen.   
  
Not longer was he merely dressed in flak armour, now he was wearing a full suit of gold/silver power armour without a helmet. A long double edged power sword, its length carved with words inimical to the daemonic, hung at his side and in his hand, he carried a specially made storm bolter filled with bolters infused with the essence of the Emperor. The amulet in the shape of a cross known as the Crux Terminatus, with its blood red gem at the center, hung low around from his neck.  
  
Resting on his shoulder was a large raven, a metal construct infused with psychic energy and attuned to Zenik's telepathic signature. It was his familiar and one he was quite fond of as for long years it has served his faithfully as his eyes and ears when he is not around. Icarus, as Abram calls the raven, is about the size of an adult cat with farseeing jade eyes. The only sign that Icarus is a machine is the metallic components sprouting from its back to its neck.  
  
Calmly as if it's common ritual Zeniks lifted his ritually blessed storm bolter and emptied numerous rounds into a charging Khorne berserker, a grim smile forming on his lips as he watch the corpse fall. His storm bolter's double engraved barrels smoked lightly before screaming another death song into a trio of chaos marines.   
  
Their return fire did nothing to faze him as he had the Emperor's blessings on his side, their bolters merely bounced off his armour with little ill effects. It could not be said that the same thing had happened for them, shieldbreaker rounds tore through their ceramite armour as though it were paper. A chaos marine fell back, his finger gripping the trigger of his bolter, spraying rounds of deadly corrupted shrapnel everywhere killing friend and foe alike.   
  
Another chaos marine clutched his helmet before toppling over, his head destroyed from the bolter round the penetrated his fully enclosed skull-faced helmet just moments before and exploded.   
  
Pausing only to give orders to his retinue which included his acolyte, Ramius and an Interrogater by the name of Dromak, Inquisitor Zeniks continued firing before noticing that the circle of Imperial troops began to shrink.   
  
'They're wavering.' He thought to himself, 'They believe the Emperor's light has deserted them. They must be reminded that He is always watching his most loyal of servants.'  
  
Advancing forward with his retinue, Zeniks shouted in a deep almost melodius voice. The fire in his eyes and passion in his voice growing with each passing word. "Hold the line my brothers! Fight for not only your souls but for our beloved Emperor!"  
  
Raising his voice to even greater heights of religious fanaticism, he shounted once again. "My brothers! My comrades! Fight on for the Emperor's love is with us all. Fight on knowing that should we fall, our souls are safe in the arms of His Majesty. Have faith in our blessed sovereign for He can do no wrong. Salvation always awaits the true loyal servants of the Emperor!"   
  
Drawing his power sword in his left gaunlet, he raised the sword above his head and began firing his storm bolter again, his pitched voice booming above even the gunfire. "Faith is our armour, we shall not die until He commands it! Now cleanse the heretics! CLEANSE AND BURN THEM ALL!!!"  
  
High in the the dark and stormy skies, bright stars of hope twinkled and began an ever increasing speedy descent onto the battlefield below.  
  
*********************  
  
Warhammer 40k (The Sci-fi Universe) Glossary  
  
Bolter weapon- There are many types of bolters ranging from bolt pistols to bolters to the deadly anti-infantry heavy bolter. All bolt weapons fire small, self-propelled missiles known as bolts. Bolts are relatively large (three times the size of a rifle bullet) and a magazine carries relatively few. This is outweighed by the incredible armour penetrating power of the bolt's adamantium tip, complemented by an explosive charge contained within the bolt's core.   
  
Cameleoline Cloak- Though mainly a cloak, it also consists of robes that make the Path-finder or Ranger virtually invisible to the naked eye. They work by shifting and blending in with the surrounding environment, making it extremely difficult to locate the wearer.  
  
Eldar- The Eldar are an ancient, psychic and technologically advanced race (their spacefaring history predating humanity's by many thousands of year) who ruled the galaxy until a terrible catastrophe overcame them. Their decadence combined with powerful psychic abilities and warp energy caused the birth of a new god. Slannesh, the Great Enemy devoured a large proportion of the Eldar race in one night and continues to take the souls of all Eldar should they die without a Waystone. Although the Eldar were all but destroyed in the Fall, many survive. With the help of expert warriors and an ability to predict the future, gradually the Eldar are bringing together the shattered remnants of their civilization to once again rule the galaxy.  
  
Farseer- The leaders of the Craftworlds, Farseers, will join their kin in battle, using powerful psychic abilities to support the warriors or if necessary take apart the mind of the enemy. Warlocks accompany their Farseers so that they to may give their life in defence of the Eldar Path  
  
Flip belt- A flip belt is a compact anti-grav device which generates a short range negative-gravity field which, when combined with the Harlequins' already amazing acrobatic abilities, allows them to make all manner of gravity-defying leaps and bounds.   
  
Daemon Hunters (Grey Knights)- Surpassing even their brother Space Marines in skill and ability, the level of expertise that each Grey Knight wields is such that they can exterminate a daemonic infestation that outnumbers them many times over. Armed with psychically charged force weapons, storm bolters and an unshakable faith in the Emperor, there is little more daunting a foe for a Daemon to face.   
  
Harlequins- The Harlequins are a strange sub-sect of the Eldar race, consisting of warriors drawn from the other kindreds; the Craftworld Eldar, Exodites and Dark Eldar. They follow the only other Eldar god to survive the Cataclysm, the Laughing God. They are also the keepers of the ancient Eldar myths, and perform complex dances and plays to recreate these allegorical tales. The Harlequins are held in a mixture of fear, awe and respect by all other Eldar for their knowledge of the Webway is unmatched and they can appear and disappear almost at will.  
  
Imperial Guard- The Imperial Guard is the largest and most diverse military organization the galaxy has ever seen. It contains billions of men supported by armored vehicles such as tanks and troop transports. These armored vehicles take the shape of flame throwing assault tanks, long range self propelled artillery guns, and the tried and true Leman Russ Battle Tank. Due to it's vast size, specialized weaponry and armor are rare and reserved for only the elite forces of the Imperial Guard. The standard guardsmen is sent into battle with a trusty lasgun and little more than the shirt on his back. Tactically, an Imperial Guard force uses blunt maneuvers and will rely upon big guns and sheer weight of numbers. Service in the Imperial Guard is rarely a glorious path to tread, nevertheless billions of valiant warriors lay down their lives for the sake of humanity, it's home, and the honor of the Emperor.  
  
Imperium of Man- The Imperium of Man stretches across vast star systems, over billions of worlds. The Imperium is ruled by the God-Emperor but as he is nothing more than a corpse in a stasis field, the High Lords of Terra truly rule. In order to protect Humanity the Imperium is not only cruel and intolerant but xenophobic to other races, usually destroying any alien settlements on planets they wish to colonize, claiming it as "rightfully theirs and the alien heretics had no right to be there." Though the Imperium tries to be good, its intolerancy and merging of religion as government makes it highly impractical. Those who oppose the Imperium are killed either using the brute force of Space Marines, Imperial Guard or Adeptus Arbites or by an assassin of the Officio Assassinorum.   
  
Inquisitor- Inquisitors are the agents of the Imperium's Inquisition. The Inquisition is an ecclesiastical tribunal for suppression of heresy, Inquisitors are given special powers to do as they wish as they deem fit in order to bring heretics to justice. They are the most fanatical of all the God-Emperor's servants and as such are brutally cruel in their attempts to 'purify' the Imperium of all threats, external and internal. They are armed with the most advanced technology in the Imperium and have been known to command even the dreaded Space Marines as well as their destruction should an Inquisitor deem them unrepentant. Their two main mottos are: "Innocence proves nothing." and "The ends justifies the means."  
  
Meltagun- A melti-melta or thermal gun as it is known fires blasts of intense heat capable of melting flesh to nothing recognisable and equally capable of turning heavily armoured vehicles to motlen slag.  
  
Mon Keigh (Pronounced: Mon Ki)- A semi derogatory name for humans by the Eldar. It's used to show their brutal, primitive nature. Also if pronounced correctly it sounds very similarly to monkey, the creature humans evolved from.   
  
Multi-melta- The multi-melta or thermal cannon as it is known takes the extremes of heat to a whole new level. They are multi-barrelled thermal guns in almost every sense but generate more heat as a result of extra power packs. The multi-melta makes no noise when fired, but the super-heating of air produces a distinctive hiss that becomes a roaring blast.  
  
Path-finder- Some Eldar Rangers have trodden the Path of the Outcast for centuries, having managed to resist the dark temptations that the universe offers but losing none of the wanderlust that drove them from their craftworld. They are more adept as survival and infiltration than even normal Rangers and are known as Path-finders.  
  
Power armour- Power armour is a completely enclosed armour made from thick ceramite plates worn mainly by Space Marines. Though it would be heavy and cumbersome for a normal person, electrically motivated fibre bundles implanted in the armour allow for replication of the movements of the wearer and supplementation of his strength. Power armour is fully sealed to provide protection against gas weapons and hard vacuum.   
  
Power weapons- Power weapons are surrounded by an energy field that tears apart any matter that it touches as long as the field is active.  
  
Ranger Long Rifle- The Ranger long rifle fires something akin to needles, allowing the rifle to carry a much larger ammunition supply per cartridge. The long rifle is equipped with a highly sophisticated sights, allowing the firer to locate weak points in an enemy's armour.  
  
Ritual, The- The Ritual is the test/ceremony undergone by any Eldar who was brought in by a Harlequin in order to become one. Those who are strong enough to survive the Ritual become Harlequins.   
  
Shuriken weapons (IE: Shuriken Pistol, Shuriken Catapult, Shuriken Cannon)- The Eldar are famed for their shuriken weapons. These range in size from the Shuriken pistol to the shuriken cannon and all operate on the same principles. The aummunition is stored as a solid core of plasti-crystal material that is forced up from the magazine by a magnetic repulsor. A series of rapid high-energy impulses originating from the rear of the weapon then moves it forward at an intense speed. These impulses detach a monomolecular slice of the ammunition core and hurl it from the weapon's barrel, while the ammunition core is kept in the line of firing impulse by the magnetic repulsor. This allows the weapon to fire up to a hundred rounds of ammunition in a burst of one or two seconds, and each ammunition core is good for atleast ten bursts of fire before it needs replacing.   
  
Space Marine- Space Marines are the most powerful and dreaded of all the human warriors in the Warhammer 40k universe. They are not Human at all but superhuman, having been made superior, in all respects, to a normal man by a harsh regime of genetic modification, psycho-conditioning and rigourous training. Being few in number compared to the uncounted billions of Humanity, Space Marines are organised into small independent armies called Chapters. Each Chapter is responsible for its own recruitment, training, equipment, organisation and strategy. Their unswerving loyalty is to the Emperor of Mankind and no other.  
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	3. Chapter Two

Disclaimer: Warhammer, Warhammer 40k and all related names and characters belong to Games Workshop. No infringement intended. No profit made--these stories are purely for reader enjoyment. That means that all the other characters introduced in this story are my own creations as are any changes made to the Warhammer universes. Let's just get to the story.  
  
  
**Twilight's Crossing **  
_by Karandras_  
  
Chapter 2  
  
Tall green grass covered the sloping hills that overlooked Yamsa plains. Sparse collections of long leaf trees littered the lush hills providing some amount of cover for anyone crossing, in this case being four deftly cloaked Eldar path-finders and one grim looking Harlequin.   
  
The quartet of Eldar moved with speed as well as caution which could definitely not be said for the Harlequin known as Karhaedron.   
  
He skipped frivolously from side to side while singing in a twisted singsong voice, "Oh we're off to kill the mon keigh. The pesky creatures infesting our skies. They spread, they fight, they defile and kill. Oh my, I guess we'll just have to shed their blood all over these hills!"   
  
Laughing insanely and softly to himself, he hummed to himself as he somersaulted alongside the path-finders.   
  
Athan'bane turned to Karthanmor and whispered to him when he thought Karhaedron could not hear, "Sire I think this Solitaire is a few soulstones short of a full circuit."   
  
"I agree with Athan, this Karhaedron seems just too......happy. He does not seem like any normal Harlequin or as normal as they can get." Whispered Vandrimir, sneaking a glance as the dancing Solitaire.   
  
"Guuuuyyyssss! We're finally here!" Karhaedron said in a gleeful voice. Pointing down from the top of the hill where they stood to the bloody battle raging below.   
  
"Shut up Karhaedron before you draw any of them to us." Karthanmor said as he unslung his long rifle along with the others.   
  
Below them about a klick from the base of the hill was the Imperial encampment under siege. The encroachment of the foul spawn of Chaos threatened to destroy the last vestige of Imperial presence on this world which would be a good thing were it not for the fact that the taint of Chaos would remain and spread here.  
  
Disgust soured Karthanmor's mouth as he realized the choices he had. Let the Chaos scum destroy the Imperial forces here or aid the Imperial mon keigh in destroying their age old foe.   
  
He knew the choice he would make as he lower his long rifle into his sights. Azu Soku Zan allowed for no exceptions and this case being one that he must aid the Imperial forces in ridding this world of the taint that is Chaos.   
  
"Look! Khorne Berserkers! I haven't fought them in such a looooong time!" Karhaedron said in a cheery voice, pointing to a squad of bloodthirsty red armoured clad figures hacking apart one of the Catachan command squads.   
  
"Damn! They saw you fool!" Athan'bane snarled, leveling his long rifle and taking aim at the squad of twenty Khorne berserkers diverting course to charge at them. The others took aim and fired with as if Asuryan's hand was guiding their rounds. Four of the berserkers dropped, smoking holes in their helmets as blood dripped on the inside where the brains were splattered from the shots.   
  
"There's too many of them. And they are moving with unholy speed." Vandrimir said, gritting his teeth as he shot off another high speed round. The berserker merely shrugged off the shot the ripped one of his two hearts into pieces and shrieked psychotically.   
  
Reaching the base of the hill, the khornites began to ascend with great speed, ranting about creating a shrine of Eldar skulls for Khorne.   
  
Suddenly the lead berserker exploded in a shower of bone, guts and blood causing some of the nearby khornites to erupt in the same disgusting manner. Karthanmor looked up to see Karhaedron standing over him with a shuriken pistol out, a huge cheshire cat grin plastered on the holographic facemask.   
  
"Bio-explosive ammunition" He said in a jovial tone of voice. "Neat huh?"   
  
"Oh boy! I'm going to have alot of fun today!" Karhaedron said, brandishing his weapons to the incoming khornites. Standing still for mere moments allowed Karthanmor and the others to see what the Solitaire truly carried for weapons.   
  
Strapped to his right forearm was a thin sharpened tube known as the Harlequin's Kiss and on both forearms were a pair of powerblades, the blades curving back and over his elbows. Each blade emitted a light blue aura around it. The Solitaire wore a strange looking belt that resembled a device that Elthandeorn had once saw centuries ago called a Phase field.   
  
In his right hand, he carried his shuriken pistol and in the left was a single edged curved blade. In tandem, it was a perfect combination of dealing death. Suited to Karhaedron's way of fighting.   
  
"Well I'm off! Don't wait up for me." He said, phasing out of realspace and reappearing in the midst of the Khorne berserkers. Laughing maniacally he tore through their numbers with ease.   
  
The khornite's armour meant nothing as a slash of the Solitaire's powersword disarmed an axe wielding berserker....literally as the sweeping blow of the powerblades that followed cut the khornite in half.   
  
Turning with amazing speed, Karhaedron blocked a halberd swing at his torso and swiftly spun to block two sword blows coming in from opposite directions. With a gurgle the halberd wielding khornite fell to the ground with a hole through his power armoured chest that looked as if someone sliced in into him.   
  
Thrusting his sword forward, he stabbed yet another berserker through the throat. His holographic facemask changing to a giant yellow smiley face before withdrawing his sword, in the process sending the powerblade tip through the head of a khornite behind him. With a quick twist of his torso, he carried off the head of both berserkers.   
  
Distracted for a few moments by this amusing 'dance' he failed to notice another khorne berserker behind him until the sword was being thrusted at him. Barely dodging, Karhaedron could feel his lifeblood seeping down his suit as the sword cut across his chest and then spun away in the opposite direction.  
  
"Heh heh heh. That was fun! It's been a while since anyone's been able to hit me like that!" Karhaedron said in his cheerful twisted tone of voice, "How about a Kiss?"   
  
Running at the berserker he lunged down and past the khornite, just barely a few inches away from losing his head in the horizontal stroke, and into a crouching position. Turning swiftly he slashed his powerblades across the back of the marine's kneecaps, causing him to toppled backwards as Karhaedron leapt to the side to avoid being crushed.   
  
His holographic facemask changed again into a happy mocking grin with what appeared to be lipstick on grin and happy-go-lucky eyes.   
  
"Pucker up." He said in a not very sane cheery voice. Lifting his right forearm with the thin sharpened tube, he impaled the berserker with the Harlequin's Kiss watching with grim satisfaction as monofilament wires inside the tube uncoil and slice around the insides of the khornite.   
  
After a few seconds of struggling, the khornite laid still as his internal organs were reduced to the consistency of soup with the skin and armour the only things holding the liquids inside from spilling out.   
  
Looking around, Karhaedron realized that he already killed nearly all of the berserkers. The few that did survive were made into Insta'pincushions by the Eldar snipers.   
  
With a sad almost bored tone of voice, he said to the corpses lying around him. "Awww, you dead."  
  
*********************  
  
Borvos the Skullsplitter stood at head of his terminator squad. Ten of them wearing night black terminator armour, the color scheme exactly like the Chaos marines fighting the Imperial forces. For ten millennia, Borvos has fought the false Emperor of Man donning the hulking tactical dreadnought suit, commonly referred to as terminator armour.   
  
The heavy and cumbersome armour bristling with spikes and skulls gave Borvos and his squad the look of overgrown daemonic man shaped beetles, which was not far off from the truth.   
  
Very few of them carried ranged weapons of any type, those few carrying only storm bolters. They all carried some type of close combat weapon ranging from power axes to halberds and scythes. Most carried two or even three close combat weapons, usually a pair of lightning claws attached to the back of their forehand while each hand gripped some foul corrupted fleshtearing weapon.  
  
Thousands of years worshipping the powers of Chaos had twisted Borvos and his brethren into the creatures standing here today. Sharpened teeth protruded from their lips and blotched red livid scars writhed across their faces.   
  
Choosing to wear no helmet so he can watch the Imperial troops die with pleasure, he surveyed the scene before him.   
  
Numerous Rhinos had penetrated the Imperial lines, delivering their troops as the Khorne berserkers provided enough distraction for the rest of tactical squads to make it through moderately unscathed. Now it was turn for him to wreak a blood harvest among the puny humans.  
  
Motioning his men to move forward, he halted when he caught a glimmer of swords being drawn and the melodious sounds of men dying be it Chaos marines or misguided Imperial lackeys.  
  
Grinning malevolently, he pointed to the lone figure of a morbidly clad Eldar surrounded by the pathetic remains of some score of Khorne berserkers. Shimmering several metres back behind the Eldar was three shapes barely visible were it not for the blessings of Chaos he had tattooed to his body.   
  
Fastening his lightning claws to his gauntlets, he looked into the reflection of his face off his axe. Mad crimson eyes stared back at him. Letting out a hiss of anticipation he licked the blade of his axe with his tongue, enjoying the taste of his own blood in his mouth as the finely honed blade sliced into soft tender flesh.   
  
As he and his terminators stalked quietly to where the Eldar stood, he bared his bloodstained teeth. A little Eldar flesh would be a nice appetizer before the main course. Imperial flesh always tasted delicious to him especially when drenched in fear.  
  
*********************  
  
Athan'bane was just crouching there with his mouth open. He was unsure which was crazier, speed freek orks or Karhaedron. Right now, he was leaning alot towards Karhaedron.   
  
"Dear lord, what is he?" Loren'galiel breathed as he warily eyed the immobile Harlequin.   
  
As if hearing his question the Harlequin turned to face L Vandrimir, his head cocked to the side before his face changed into a burst of rainbow colors and swirling smile.   
  
"That was fun, don't you think? A few of them were really good fighters." The solitaire said in his oh-so cheery tone, walking towards the path-finders again.  
  
"Come over here, Karhaedron." Eldorath said, waving the wounded Eldar over to him. "We need to patch you up. I can't let you going around with an open wound like that. Who knows what foul curses were placed on their weapons."   
  
"Tis but a flesh wound." Karhaedron said in a playful tone of voice, mocking an accent commonly found amongst Imperial guardsmen.  
  
"Yes...that 'flesh' wound as you call it looks deep and you're starting to bleed on us." Eldorath responded.  
  
Looking down, he noticed that he was indeed bleeding profusely and onto them. A sudden pang of dizziness hit Karhaedron like a crash of sauradons causing him to stumble abit before tripping. Falling, he lost conciousness....right on Eldorath, who at the time was trying to close the long gnash on Karhaedron's chest.   
  
Being a former Healer, an Eldar who used his psychic ability for purely healing purposes, Eldorath took out a small gem with a rune engraved on it and placed it on the center of the slash. Using a combination of psycho-technic and psycho-conductive techniques, he slowly healed the blade wound until nothing was left to show that he was wounded in the first place, not even a scar.  
  
All the while as Eldorath worked precariously on the solitaire, Karhaedron proved to be an uncooperative patient even when unconscious. Tossing and turning and making soft comments such as "Mmmm....that feels niiice" whenever the frustrated former healer placed his hands on the solitaire to examine the wound.  
  
Meanwhile Vandrimir and Athan'bane were laughing hysterically. It was an odd sight to see three centuries year old Eldar in such a way, one handling a deadly warrior with the demeanor of a child and the other two on the verge of tears. There was just one problem though.....  
  
Coughing furiously, Athan'bane tried to stop laughing and concentrate on breathing. Wiping tears from his eyes, he looked around before straightening in panic.   
  
"Guys? Where'd Karthanmor go?" The younger path-finder asked cautiously to his companions.  
  
The other two stopped what they were doing to scan the surrounding area but were interupted as bolter fire puffed up dirt in a narrow line between them. Too close for comfort.   
  
"For the Warmaster!!!" Bellowed a deep voice on the verge of psychosis. The ground shook under the stampede of charging Chaos Terminators.   
  
A flash of rusted plasteel caught Athan'bane's eye. He barely had time to turn around, his hand gripped around his shuriken pistol. Raising it an a desperate attempt to block the down swing of the sword that sever him in half, he realized he was too late to block the sword.  
  
*********************  
  
Memories flashed through his head. Dozens, hundreds at a time zipping through from the time of his birth four hundred and fifty years ago to right now shone in his eyes.   
  
Memories of his early childhood, the fun he had with his brothers and parents. The days before the attack came.   
  
He remembered when he was only 100 years old, barely an adolescent, running as fast as his little feet could carry him. Running to his home to warn his parents, to save them from the Nurgle Cult Terminators who were slaughtering the Eldar settlement.   
  
Running blindly through the woods, pine needles and small branches whipping in his face, he eventually reached his wraithbone home. Dread filled him as he saw the door sliced open and smoking pouring out from a hole in the roof. Tears filled his eyes as he ran to his destroyed home, praying to Isha that his family was still alive.   
  
"Mama! Papa!" He called out into the desolate home, "Mama! Papa! Where are you?"   
  
Stumbling around, tears blurring his vision, young Athan'bane searched for any clue to the whereabouts of his parents or his brothers.   
  
Chairs had been knocked over, tables upturned but the tell-tale smell of blood told him violence had been done here.   
  
The bookcase where his father would spend many a night reading to him and his brothers about the mythological Eldar hero Eldanesh. Still warm soup simmered on the kitchen counter, his mother must have just finished making dinner when this happened.  
  
Rounding a table, he found the clues he was looking for....  
  
"NOOOO!!!" He screamed, running to the decaying corpses of his mother and father. He fell to his knees and cried. He cried for them, for his youngest brother who's chaos infected corpse was cradle in their dead mother's arms. He had lost everything his home, his family, his life.   
  
"Nooo....." He cried pitifully, "Don't leave me....I don't want to be alone.."   
  
Tears fell to the floor as he stared depressingly into his father's eyes. A defiant glint remained there as his body shielded the mother and baby in death as it had in life.   
  
A croaking voice spoke up from behind him, "Don't worry little boy. You'll be joining them soon enough."   
  
Athan'bane turned around, his eyes red from crying and tears still shoning in them.  
  
A seven foot tall human stood a the door. Vomit green colour his armour and his face was bloated with disease. In his hand, he hand a short sword covered in filth and blessed by the Chaos god, Nurgle. The plague marine smiled at him, showing rotted teeth and bare bone where gums should be.   
  
"GO ON! KILL ME!" He yelled at the plague marine. Lowering his voice to a meeker tone he quietly said to himself, "I don't have anything to live for now."  
  
A sadistic grin appeared on the decaying face of the plague marine and he stepped forward, sword raised to deliver the final blow. The sword came down, a glint of pleasure appearing in the plague marine's eyes which quickly turned into surprised as he was sent flying forward into the wall back beyond the young child.   
  
At the doorway stood an figure covered in greenish black robes with a hooded cameleoline cloak flapping in the breeze. He carried only a long rifle slung over his shoulders. A veil covered the lower half of his face which outlined a respirator but it was the figure's eyes that drew Athan'bane's attention.   
  
The figure's eyes were crackling with psychic energy as if he was barely containing his rage.   
  
"Leave the boy alone." The figure said, his voice menacing and cold. "Fight me instead Chaos scum."  
  
Growling, the plague marine got up, wiping some blood from his mouth. "You'll pay for that puny man. I'll send your soul as a sacrifice to Lord Nurgle!" With that, he went from a crouching motion to a full frontal charge.  
  
The figure made no attempt to dodge instead he threw his right hand forward as if to punch the plague marine. A burst of psychic energy the size of his body shot from his hand, colliding with the plague marine and forcing him to his knees.   
  
Spitting out blood, the plague marine forced some words through clenched teeth. "Why...are...you....here?" He asked while slowly reaching for his bolt pistol.  
  
The plague marine fell to the ground dead, 6 shuriken rounds lodged deep within his skull from the shuriken pistol that mysteriously appeared in the stranger's hand.   
  
"Aku. Soku. Zan." The stranger whispered softly.  
  
Placing away his weapons, the stranger walked over to and knelt by the young weeping child. No longer was the man's eyes white with psychic energy but a gentle hazel brown. "Are you hurt child?" He asked gently to the boy.  
  
No response.  
  
Sighing, the figure stood up and took off his veill, revealing in the process long pointy ears that marked him as an Eldar. Offering his hand to the young boy, he said in a sad but gentle tone. "Come child, there's nothing for you here anymore. There's nothing for any of us here now."  
  
Slowly Athan'bane looked up into the stranger's eyes, saw the genuine concern for him and he was touched by it. He reached up and took the stranger's hand as he was helped up off the ground.   
  
The stranger turned to go and beckoned Athan'bane to follow. Moving alongside the figure, he looked up curiously into the hooded face. The stranger noticed this and asked him, "What's your name?"   
  
"I'm Athan'bane, sir." He replied in a sad voice that had a hint of hope to it. The stranger stopped and turned to the young Athan'bane, the respirator removed to reveal a warm smile. "Well Athan'bane, I am Karthanmor of the Alaitoc Path-finders."   
  
Tears flowed in Athan'bane's eyes as he recalled that memory. Happy that he met that man to whom he owed everything, the man who treated him like a son and he treated as if he were a second father.   
  
*********************  
  
Time flowed normally again, the blade came flashing down....and hit the soft grass. For a minute, Athan'bane thought the terminator had missed. Looking again he saw that the stroke was perfect, something had shot off the sword blade mere centimeters above the hilt.  
  
Before the chaos terminator could even recover from the shock, a burst of intense heat swept around him. Screaming in agony, he took a step forward before armour, bone and flesh melted into a pool of disgusting liquids at Athan'bane's feet.  
  
Athan'bane turned quickly to see Karthanmor walking out of some bushes several dozen paces back, his hand gripping the long rifle as if it was a pistol and held out to fire another deadly sniper round. Behind him emerged lithe armoured figures clad in the colors of flame.   
  
"Sire!" He cried in surprise and happiness.   
  
Bearing short stubby guns with a medium length conical head known as Fusion guns, they fired bursts of super-heated air into the forms of the charging heretics.  
  
"Fire Dragons!" Athan'bane shouted to the others as the deadly aspect warriors trained in the art of bringing death through fire rained shot after shot of burning air. Karthanmor's respirator gleamed in the bathing glow of the fusion guns as his second well aimed shot clipped off a power axe at the hilt, the round continuing on to slice through the right elbow, severing numerous tendons there.  
  
Their assault continued though as they screamed wanton prayers to their patron god, Khorne. His blessings to his children allowed them to pass through the barrage of scalding air relatively unscathed to reach the Fire Dragons in bloody melee.  
  
Though trained to fight in close range, Fire Dragons are not meant to fight in close combat save for their exarch. The full squad of ten Fire Dragons soon fell to seven then six as their armour did little to stop the cleaving blades. Though his men fell, the exarch fought on with seething anger.   
  
The Fire Dragon exarch only looked harmless with his firepike, whose range far exceeded that of the fusion gun but the weapon itself was twice as long, he fought vigorously, using his firepike as a staff.   
  
Spinning and twirling around almost as graceful as that of a Harlequin, the exarch thwapped a chaos terminator hard across the chest. Growling with intense hatred, he clenched his right hand. Athan'bane watched in amazement as flames started to swirl around the fist before the exarch threw a lightning fast punch that tore through the terminator helmet with ease.   
  
Flames engulfed the head as the exarch withdrew his fist, letting the nearly decapitated body fall to the ground with an audible thud. Athan'bane had only heard of such a thing, the Fire Dragon skill that only their exarchs may learn: the Burning Fist.  
  
Swiftly turning the exarch drew an unseen fire axe, an ancient power weapon whose special design allows the wielder to strike with even greater strength, blocking a slashing lightning claw.  
  
But even with his ferocity, the Fire Dragons were being quickly overwhelmed as their efforts could only slow the twisted humans.   
  
Suddenly a familiar buzzing sound filled the air. Nearly a dozen green armoured clad Eldar charged through the bushes, chainswords held high and shuriken pistols letting loose silent death. These Eldar were different from other Eldar as they were more muscularly built in order to wear their heavy armour. Their helmets were curved back in the shape of a scorpion's tail and at either side of the helmet was an pincer shaped lasweapon known as mandiblasters.   
  
Jumping into the fray, they fought off the deadly terminators with fanatical rage. Sword met chainsword. Axe met a hail of laser shots from the mandiblasters. Sharp, cracking noise filled the air as needle thin shards jammed between armour slots acting as conductors for the highly charged laser blasts that came mere milliseconds later.  
  
Chainswords carved through the tactical dreadnought suits as the serrated blades screamed for more. The most fearsome of all these Striking Scorpions was their exarch.   
  
Clad in dark greenish black armour, he held a shuriken pistol in his right hand and on his back in its sheathe was the biting blade. Long braided black/silver hair came out from the back of his helmet.   
  
His most feared asset though was his left hand which was encased in a powered claw shape glove. The three taloned claws separated the 4 fingers and thumbs into each claw. The thumb in the first claw, the trigger finger and middle in the second claw and the last two fingers in the third. A shuriken catapult was grafted to the back of the claw.  
  
The weapon, known as the Scorpion's Claw, was thick and had a hazy blue aura around it and looked as if it could easily crushed a man's head.   
  
Running into the melee the Striking Scorpion exarch, Dalamir, turned his head to face his foe. Psychically linked mandiblasters blasted into the terminator's helmet, having little effect aside from temporarily blinding him. It was enough though as Dalamir reached inside himself for the strength to perform a skill of the Striking Scorpion exarchs.   
  
Reaching forward, he enclosed the terminator's helmeted face with the Scorpion's Claw and closed his fist. Blood oozed out of the helmet and onto his power claw as the skull caved in onto the brain, killing the chaos heretic almost instantly but not painlessly.   
  
The unbreakable terminators were then broken, unable to stand up against such firepower. Some retreated, the smart ones atleast. Borvos was one of those few who saw that it was better to run to fight another day rather than die to some pointy eared aliens. Taking with him two other terminators, they ran unlike many Imperial guardsmen of French ancestry: at moderate speed, not screaming like little girls and with dignity.  
  
The remaining four terminators were only vaguely aware of their leader's retreat, engrossed as they were in the bloodshed.   
  
One terminator punched forward, his lightning claws impaling a poor Striking Scorpion. With sadistic glee, the terminator reached forward with his other hand and pulled off the scorpion's helmet, enjoying the look of horror on his victim's face. Baring his long sharpened fangs, he bit into the Eldar's throat and then viciously tore away, ripping out the man's jugular.   
  
Turning the terminator smiled at the other striking scorpions with an open grin, Eldar blood pouring from his mouth as the corpse slid off his claws. The remaining striking scorpions fell back from the disgusting display of savagery.  
  
Laughing maliciously, the terminator stalked towards the striking scorpions. Gurgling, he felt his neck to see blood spilling out from a well placed sniper round. Looking dumbly at the Eldar, he saw the lone Eldar path-finder who led the aspect warriors here. No grin, no words of damnation for the terminator.  
  
Karthanmor fired another shot.   
  
The terminator's head snapped back as the round pierced his brain between his eyes. Even as he fell forward, another shot penetrated his thick armour and tore a rather large hole through his primary heart. The force of the second shot counter-balanced the fall and the dead corpse began to fall to the side. A third shot found its mark in the second heart of the terminator and it fell back at the feet of its comrades, tongue hanging loosely out of the bloody mouth.  
  
Karthanmor took a step forward, rifle raised and aimed. "Chaos is not welcomed here. Aku Soku Zan."  
  
*********************  
  
Borvos ran as fast as his instincts for self-preservation would take him. Trailing behind him were the last two terminators, following their brave leader away from the Eldar forces. A loud crackling explosion rumbled from behind him and he took the risk to glance back to see what had happened.  
  
The three remaining terminators who foolishly chose to stay and fight were just.... standing there. Electrical sparks played up and down their armour as auxiliary sytems were overloaded by the electro-magnetic burst of a haywire grenade. Small explosions rippled across the beetlelike armour of the chaos terminators.   
  
The mighty fell terminators of Chaos stood immobile, helpless as a newborn kitten to the merciless onslaught of the Eldar aspect warriors. They died in mindnumbing agony, the firepike rained molten rock down unto them. Luquid magma ate through the thick exo-armor to reach the soft flesh underneath.   
  
Borvos turned back to the task at hand, back to the blood orgy of human bloodletting. A pitifully wailing arose from behind him and stopped dead in his tracks to see what had happened. One of his two remaining terminators was screaming hysterically as a blinding white ball of plasma consumed his body from the torso up.   
  
'Fool!" He spat out to the dying chaos marine but was wondering how such a thing had reached him from such a distance. Another blood curdling scream came from the other terminator who clutched his arm only to have it burn away from the extreme heat of a plasma shard. He too fell to the ground, body flailing in incredible pain before all movement stopped.  
  
The mark of Chaos Undivided tattooed across his back glowed underneath the suit as his enhanced vision allowed him see a single Eldar path-finder standing at the top of the hill aiming the long rifle in his direction.   
  
The Eldar aspect warriors were tending to their own wounded and dead, retrieving spirit stones to place into the craftworld's infinity matrix. As for the other three rangers and the harlequin he spotted before, they were had overcome their shock and were aiding with the wounded.  
  
A flash of light blinked out of existence and Borvos found himself instinctively raising his arm. A shard deflected off the eight pointed star of Chaos on his arm guard, which was a mirror copy of the mark on his back.  
  
Two more shots came in hard and fast but he deflected them as well, his eyes faintly glowing blood red. Karthanmor seeing the futility in wasting more shots so he lowered his rifle.   
  
Seeing this Borvos relaxed abit. Raising his fist towards Karthanmor, he spoke softly to the Eldar quite some distance away his words carried by the wind. "We'll meet again some day Eldar."  
  
With those final words, he turned his back and ran towards the massacre of Imperial troops.  
  
  
*********************  
  
  
(A/N: From now on, I'll switch back and forth between path-finders and rangers since they are essentially the same thing. The only difference is that path-finders have been rangers for centuries.)   
  
  



End file.
